Don't You Want to Share the Guilt?
by song-of-a-nightowl
Summary: Set pre-Swan Song. Martha doesn't want to be there when Sam says yes to Lucifer. She leaves in the middle of the night, but goes into Sam's room first. Their goodbye is painful.


Martha tiptoes into Sam's bedroom. The room is dark save for the scant streetlight filtering in through the blinds. She can see the outline of Sam's gargantuan form beneath the sheets. He sleeps facing the door; it's his hunter instincts. The knife beneath his pillow catches the light for a half-second as Sam shifts in his sleep.

Martha silently shuts the door behind her and stepps closer to the bed. She doesn't, even for one second, take her eyes off of Sam. She commits to memory every line and contour of his body. She doesn't want to forget any single detail about him, ever. She crouches next to the bed so that Sam is at her eye-level. She brushes a strand of stray hair out of his eyes. A second later, though, she regrets it because Sam stirs from his sleep.

He lifts his head from the pillow and opens his eyes. Martha's breath catches in her throat; Sam wasn't supposed to wake up. She wanted to get one last sight of him and be gone before he was awake. If he woke up, it would be too difficult. She could never leave if Sam looked at her the way he always did, with so much love and pain in his eyes.

"Martha?" he mumbles sleepily.

"Shh, Sam, this is a dream. You're dreaming. Go back to sleep," says Martha.

"Martha, what's going on?" asks Sam.

"Please, Sam. Go back to sleep," says Martha. Her voice cracks, and tears flood into her eyes. She looks up at the ceiling and bites her lip; she won't cry, she won't cry, she won't cry.

Sam sits up properly, wiping the sleep from his eyes. Martha starts to cry silently, even though there is nothing she wants more than to be dry-eyed right now.

"Is everything okay?" asks Sam.

"Ev-everything's fine. It's fine, Sam," says Martha, struggling to keep her voice even.

Sam senses that something is wrong. He reaches over to the nightstand and flicks on the light. Martha's freezes up.

The room is silent and thickly tense for a moment.

The silence presses in on Martha.

Sam looks at her.

"Martha?" he says quietly, unsurely.

His eyes are filled with compassion, and it only makes Martha want to cry even more. She scrambles to her feet and backs away. She doesn't want Sam to touch her, to kiss her, to hug her…it would only make her want to stay.

Sam reaches out anyway. He steps toward Martha and places a hand on her arm. But Martha shrugs away and crosses her arms in front of her chest. She swallows and takes a deep breath; she will need an iron will to get through this.

"What's wrong?" asks Sam.

"Nothing, Sam. Just…just go back to sleep," says Martha.

Sam ignores her. "Why are you crying?"

Martha ducks her head and tries to surreptitiously brush away the tears. She mumbles, "I'm not crying."

"Yes, you are," says Sam, "Come here."

He steps forward and gathers Martha in his arms, ignoring her attempts to brush him off. His hands settle in the middle of her back and rub gently. Martha closes her eyes and leans into the hug. She wants so badly never to have to break apart from this. But Sam's hug doesn't change the reason she had come in here in the first place, and this is a better last memory than she could have hoped for. Martha pulls away from the hug. Sam looks at her with eyes full of confusion and sadness.

And then he notices that Martha is wearing her jacket and boots.

"Why are you dressed?" asks Sam, "Are you going somewhere?"

"I'm sorry," whispers Martha, a sob at the edge of her voice.

Her eyes are wide and red-rimmed, and tears flow freely down her cheeks. Her jaw is set in that way it always is when she's trying so hard not to cry. She clutches her arms tightly around her middle, as if she is holding in her emtions. Or maybe she's afriad that if she lets go, then she would just fall forward into Sam's arms again.

"What's going on?" asks Sam, more panicked this time.

"I'm so sorry," repeats Martha.

Sam's eyes go wide. He steps back as if Martha had just been possessed. Martha's heart breaks as Sam realizes what's going on.

"You're leaving," says Sam.

Martha doesn't say anything. She doesn't nod or shake her head. She can't deny it; she could never lie to Sam. But nor can she tell him that he's right, because then he would hate her just as much as she hates herself right now. She's worried that he'll get angry or that he'll start shouting. She knows that if they started fighting, it would only be a pissing contest for who hates Martha more. As much as she feels like she deserves it, it's the last thing she wants.

Sam is silent. He could have said "don't" or "why?", but he doesn't. And if anything, the silence is worse. He probably doesn't mean to, but he adopts those puppy eyes that show his innocent, raw heartbreak.

They're stuck. Neither one of them speaks, and neither one of them moves. Martha knows she has to leave sooner or later, but she prays that Sam will say something just so she can have an excuse to stay for one more second. Leaving had been a simple plan, but the moment she turns to go it will become a reality. The reality of never seeing Sam again is more painful a thought than she can bear.

Martha cries freely as she looks at Sam. His eyes, too, swim with tears, but he doesn't dare to let them fall. Both Sam and Martha know that if Martha is about to leave, then Sam won't force her to stay. He might ask, but there won't be any real conviction in his pleas. It's the martyr in him. The martyr in him is also the reason she has to leave in the first place.

"You're going to say yes? To Lucifer?"

It's not a statement, even though Martha had been there when the entire plan had been laid out. It's a genuine question, because her leaving depends entirely on Sam's answer. And Martha wishes with her whole body that Sam hadn't given the answer he does.

"I have to."

Martha shuts her eyes.

So this is it.

"Goodbye, Sam."

She says his name one last time and lets it linger on her lips. His name means so much to her, and this is the last time she will ever get to call him by it.

"Please, don't," begs Sam.

Martha opens her eyes and looks Sam square in the eye.

"I have to," she says tonelessly.

The echo of his words is like a punch in the gut. It's a low blow, and Martha knows it. But maybe it will make him hate her a little bit, and maybe if he hates her then this will be easier for both of them.

It isn't.

Martha does her best to memorize Sam's face in the last second she's facing him. Then she turns around and walks out the door. Sam doesn't go after her.

Martha stays in America for a few days, even though she's ultimately planning on returning to England. She can't keep herself from hoping that something will go wrong and that Sam won't get trapped in the Cage. She gets a room at a hotel near the airport, and she doesn't leave it from the moment she checks in. For a few days, her life is just an endless cycle of waking up, constantly checking her phone, and counting down the hours until she knows that Sam and Dean will be in Detroit.

The planned time for the boys' meeting with Lucifer comes and goes. Nothing.

Sometime the next day around one o'clock, Martha's phone vibrates. There's a text from Dean:

_It went as planned._

Martha realizes that Sam never said goodbye. It strikes her as funny.


End file.
